


Bad Blood

by cursed_or_not9



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Apocalypse, Horror, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 12:08:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2772467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cursed_or_not9/pseuds/cursed_or_not9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak is an outsider, an observer of others.<br/>Dean Winchester is the star the football team, a hero.<br/>Two different worlds.<br/>Two different people.<br/>The only thing connecting them:<br/>Survival</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first piece of work I have ever published. It is also available on Wattpad. I hope you enjoy it!

Castiel Novak sat against the worn, brick wall of the school building, his eyes drifting over the book in his lap, the "Killers" streaming through his headphones. His converses lightly tapped against the spit-stained pavement, his dark brown hair obscuring his ocean blue eyes and his thick black glasses. He uncomfortably tugged at his blue sweater and flipped the tattered pages of the frequently read book. His eyes only moved away from the book when he heard an all too familiar laugh.

Dean Winchester: football player, girl swooner, the school bad boy. He was smiling, his emerald eyes shining, and his hand running through his sand-colored hair. The girl next to him was not the same as last week's, but there was no surprise in that. Dean went through girls as fast as Castiel went through books. Castiel racked his name for the dark-haired girl's name. Lisa. It was a shame, he thought, Lisa was always nice. It was too bad her heart would soon be broken.

Castiel knew all of this because he was a "wallflower," or in his mind an "annalist of personalities." He was always on the outside looking in; he learned about the lives of cheerleaders, jocks, nerds, and band geeks alike. He could tell what they were thinking, what they were gossiping about, who they were sleeping with, etc., etc. It was his gift. Popularity and a life for the ability to read people. Castiel did not think it was a fair trade. There was one person he could not determine the thoughts of and that pissed the living shit out of him. Dean Winchester. The one thing Castiel could tell about him was that his entire personality projected at school was just a cover up. But for what? Maybe the school hero wasn't so perfect at all.

Castiel frowned and dog-eared the page he was on. He shoved his phone in his gray shoulder-bag and held the book by his side. To get to class he had to pass Dean and the shitsticks."Great," he thought, hands trembling as they clutched his book to his chest. He almost made it past when the "amazing" Zach Ria yelled, "YOU'RE SUCH A FUCKING DORK," before preceding to dump the contents of Castiel's bag on the ground and walk away laughing. "PATHETIC," he called out as Castiel numbly began to pick up his books.

Castiel reached out to grab a book and was surprised to see a hand there holding it. His eyes were met by green ones. God no. "He's really an asshole. No one deserves that treatment," Dean said passing Castiel the book. Castiel got up and slung the bag clumsily over his shoulder. 

Before he knew what he was doing he said, "Yeah I get it. Even a fucking nerd like me doesn't deseve that." Castiel turned away and walked into the building. He felt his eyes begin to well.

At times like theses when Castiel began to have an anxiety attack, he hid in the rarely used custodian closet. He silently opened the door and slipped inside. After shutting the door, he propped himself up against some buckets and used the faint yellow light to read.

It was about an hour later when everything happened. Castiel, caught up in his book, scrambled to his feet when someone yanked open the door. They quickly turned off the lights and locked the door. Just as he was about to scream, their hand covered his mouth. "Shh..It's me. I've seen you come in here and this was the first safe place I could think of," the person said in a rapid whisper. That voice....the person's green eyes.

God no.

"Something is happening to our classmates. A man walked into the building..people got hurt...they started chasing me.."

GOD FUCKING NO.


	2. Chapter 2

6 months later

The bright light of the sun shining through a window woke Castiel up. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and gingerly swung his legs over the bed. He winced as he stood up, accidentally putting all his weight on his bandaged leg. 

His feet scraped against the wood floors of the once abandoned cabin as he limped to the bathroom. Castiel went to the cracked sink and splashed water on his face pumped from the well out back. He carefully unwrapped the blood-stained bandage from his leg. The gash ran from his knee to his ankle. He reached in the medicine cabinet and pulled out a roll of gauze, ripping of a piece with his teeth, redressing his wound.

Castiel stumbled into the kitchen. "What's for breakfast? Oh delicious. A can of baked beans. My favourite," Castiel thought rolling his eyes. Too bad most of the world population was dead; with the absence of people and a strong sense of bitterness, he becoming more funny everyday.

Castiel packed some extra cans of food, a pack of gauze, mentos, a copy of "Pet Cemetary," and his dad's revolver into a hiking backpack. As much as Castiel loved sleeping and eating in a secluded place with the bonus of running water, he knew he couldn't stay. For someone who felt alone their entire life, Castiel hated this aloneness with a passion. With no one else's problems to think about all he was left with was his own. And his problems sucked. He thought about how his mother left him, how his father beat him when he found out he was gay. The hurt, his fists, Castiel's tears, his voice screaming out that he would try hard not to be, screaming out for his father to love him..

He also thought about by the time he made it home the day everything had happened, how he saw his sister, how he reached for his father's revolver and...

He had to stop. He was on the floor shaking his hand covering his head. Fucking coward.  
.......

Castiel stared out the window of the jeep at the beaten road ahead. He had to swerve around the abandoned cars parked in their internal highway burial ground. He was somewhere in Washington (the state, not the capital, though Castiel would have liked to have seen Obama even if he was a zombie). Secluded enough, nice weather, vast forests. Perfect. 

Castiel put in a CD. "It's the End of the World as We Know It," began to play. Castiel laughed to himself, and soon was singing it at the top of his lungs. He didn't give a shit; it's not like the zombies could judge him. He speed up, the wind blowing through his hair. The song ended. Castiel's smile faded. Tears began to stream down his face.

So alone.  
So very alone.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel parked the jeep in the square of the small town. It was so small there wasn't a McDonald's, let alone a full grocery store. But alas he was in America. So naturally there was a large gun outlet smack dab in the middle of the square, next to a church. 

As he pushed open the glass door, a small bell jingled overhead. Shit. Immediately a man who had a few too many hamburgers in his life, shuffled out from the back room. Castiel pulled his gun with a silencer on it out of his back pocket. He didn't know if he should laugh or scream: the zombie was looking at him like he might have looked at a Twinkie in his previous life. He pulled the trigger. The zombie's camo shirt became even more stained with blood.

He reached for a machete, a pocket knife, a rifle, some extra amo, and for the heck of it, the stuffed squirrel on the counter. Just as he was walking out of the store, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and stopped. His hair was wild and dark, almost entirely covering one of his eyes. His glasses were long gone; they were easily broken in his first few days on his own. He had a cut on his lip and his cheek was black and blue. His clothing consisted of a black v-neck, skinny jeans (with a leg holster for his gun) and his converses caked in dry blood. The strangest thing about his appearance, and to him the most remarkable difference, was that his shining blue eyes, were now a dead gray.

He was disgusted. As low as his opinion was of some people, he couldn't help but wonder: Why me? He was nothing special. So why did he get to live while others died?

After loading up the trunk with supplies, he found himself walking to the church. It was once white and over the years had become dirtier and dirtier. As he walked inside the stain glass windows reflected blues, greens, purples, reds, and yellows. His footsteps echoed off the wood structure surrounding him. He knelt down in front of the alter. Castiel used to be religious but after everything that had happened...he didn't know. But he needed to believe in something. He needed just some shred of hope.

"Ahem. Well it's probably pretty pointless to go through the whole questioning part of this so I'll cut to the chase. I'm alive. Which is pretty amazing. But it is hell. You know you'd think I'd be happy to be alone, but I'm not. I need to find someone, to show me that I'm the only person left. Because if I am I'll....  
Amen."

Castiel stood up and walked out, never once turning back.

He shuddered at that idea of eating beans again, so he started to make his way to the diner across the street. Castiel quietly walked, luckily avoiding the attention of the dead. When he opened the door a bell dinged (what is it with these morons and bells) and he shot the two walkers behind the counter. He raided the back and found what he was looking for: a can of whipped cream, preserved cherries, and sprinkles. He sat at one of the booths watching the sun go down. While he envied the dead for not being able to feel pain, he was glad he was alive at moments like these when the sky looked like it was a child's painting.

As he walked out of the diner into an alley, he heard something he never thought he would hear again. Someone yelled, "God Dammit!"

He looked at the sky. Would you look at that. Thumbs up for delivery time.

He rushed around the corner to see a man surrounded by ten zombies. He was obviously out of ammunition. The man was trying to fight his way out, but Castiel could see it was in vain. 

Castiel pulled back the trigger ten times.

The man looked surprised as his pursers dropped around him. Suddenly something changed in his eyes. They switched from fear to recognition.

"Castiel?" He whispered in disbelief.

Castiel held up his gun, pointing it directly at the man's bright green eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

"Cas, it's me. Dean Win.."

Castiel cut him off. "I know who you are."

Confusion was plastered across Dean's face. Then the realisation hit him. "I'm so sorry.." he whispered, his voice trailing off. 

Castiel didn't make a move to lower the gun.  
"You left me to die you stupid son of a bitch! Who fucking does that? I helped you escape the school and you bolted, leaving me surrounded. You cowardly bastard," he spat out.

"But you survived.."

"There is no way you could have possibly known that I would have. It's been shear luck. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you right now."

"I can't," Dean looked up, pain etched in his face. "Everyday I've thought about it and I can't come up with any logical reason why I shouldn't have a bullet put in my brain."

Castiel pulled the trigger. Dean's face grimaced, preparing for the pain. Nothing happened. The gun wasn't loaded.

"Have fun living alone in this hell hole," Cas said as he turned his back, walking back towards the jeep.

"Wait!" Dean called as Castiel started the ignition. "Let me come with you."

"Why."

"Because I owe it to you...and I don't want to be alone."

"Huh that's funny neither did I."

"Please," pleaded Dean, his voice cracking with desperation.

"Hop in." Castiel nodded to the seat next to him.

...

Castiel pulled up to a small house outside the town. He then preceded to pick the lock and walk inside. Impressed, Dean followed behind. 

"I'll let you have the bed.." Dean began to say but Castiel had already made his way to the bedroom and slammed the door.

He fell back onto the bed. What was he doing? Dean just felt guilty and needed a source of entertainment. But Castiel knew he couldn't have just left him. His eyes began to drift closed.

Castiel was rushing up the steps of his house. He quickly unlocked the door with his spare key and frantically called out his sisters name. He ran up the stairs and bursted into her room. 

"Anna!" he yelled, seeing her sitting in her chair facing her desk. She turned to him. "No..no..no." Tears streamed down his face as he began to run. He ran into his father's study and pulled the gun out from his desk drawer.

He saw her enter the room. Her red hair plastered to her face, which was covered in blood. He dead eyes stared at him. He pulled the trigger.

Bang.

Castiel woke up. Dean was knocking on his door.

"Cas are you alright? I heard you scream!"

"LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE," Castiel yelled. He started sobbing, his salty tears covering the blanket. Castiel could not shut his eyes again.

He could hear Dean breathing outside his door the entire night.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel awoke to the smell of pancakes. He figured he must have finally drifted to sleep somewhere around five. He got up out off the bed, still wearing his clothes from yesterday. They were rumpled, and his black hair stood up in various different directions.

He opened the door. Dean was at the stove a pan full of batter in his hand. A stack of pancakes was already set on the wooden table, with a large jug of syrup beside them.

Castiel rubbed his eyes and then it hit him: Dean wasn't wearing a shirt. He was only wearing his jeans, exposing his tan muscles.

"Morning Cas!" Dean said happily, but with a slight sense of caution. 

Castiel began to feel heat rush into his cheeks.

Dean noticed him blushing and awkwardly chuckled. "Sorry," he said, tugging on his hoodie. 

"So..," Dean said breaking the uncomfortable silence as Cas sat down. "I hope you don't mind I made pancakes. I hope they are okay because I didn't have milk so I used water, and I had no butter so I used some weird fake kind in a spray bottle."

Castiel smiled at Dean's nervousness. He took a bite of the pancakes. They tasted like cardboard. Cas smiled. "They're great, thank you." No one had ever cared enough to make him pancakes, even if they did taste like shit. "You do know you don't have to make me pancakes to keep me from shooting you?" 

 

Dean grinned, clearly pleased. "Ha I know. So I've been thinking, how about we do something? Maybe like putt putt golfing? I saw a really cool place near here."

"I don't know will it be worth it?"

"I haven't seen another person for half a year. I want to play putt putt."

"Fine," Castiel said, seeing Dean's face light up. "But I should warn you...I'm going to kick your ass."

"Id like to see you try," Dean said, grabbing the jeep's keys from the table. "Come on!"

...

When they reached "Golf King" they first cleared out all of the undead occupants. Then they headed for the check in stand. Dean picked the lock and grabbed two putters, as well as a blue and a green ball.

They found their way to hole one. It was a completely straight path to the hole. Dean got into position, examining the plastic grass between his feet, and seemingly trying to calculate the ball trajectory.

"Calm it Tiger Woods," Cas laughed.

Dean missed. By a long shot. And that certainly was not the last time that day. The windmill got called a "motherfucker" multiple times and the small river flowing through the course, was threatened to be pissed in.

Castiel got a hole in one. And that was not the last time. He dominated as promised. To Dean's amusement he even did an adorable little victory dance. When he saw that Dean was looking he consciously coughed and stopped. 

As the sun went down they drive back to the house.

"I know it's a shit question, but what's the point of surviving? As much as I loved playing putt putt, is that really all we have to look forward to?" Dean keep his eyes on the sunset as if it held the answer.

"To be quite honest, I have no clue. But I think we owe it to all those who died, to not take advantage of what we have. Whenever I think about that I look at the sky at dusk. The brilliant colors remind me that I am still here."  
He looked over at Dean who was no longer looking at the sky but a him.

They rode the rest of the way to house in silence.


End file.
